


Heat of the moment

by Tashilover



Category: Endeavour
Genre: Gore, Groundhog's day trope, Major character death - Freeform, Time Loop, dub-con situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1774879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thursday wished tomorrow would never come.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A groundhog's day!trope fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat of the moment

There was too much blood. No matter how hard Thursday pressed down, it seeped through his fingers, spilling over his knuckles, staining onto the cuffs of his shirt.

Morse was shaking. Shock, Thursday knew. He'd seen it a million times, to a million boys, boys younger than Morse. Boys who should've never left home, never got a chance to grow up, never knew what it was like to kiss a girl or drink a beer on New Years day.

"Stay with me, Morse."

Morse was already too far gone to help. His breathing slowed, and the shakes all but stopped. Thursday gripped Morse's hand, giving it a good squeeze. "I'm right here," he said gently. "I'm not going anywhere."

Morse was able to give one weak squeeze back. And with that, he took his final breath and silently passed on.

Thursday stayed like that, holding Morse's hand till the wail of police cars pulled up to the house. Once he heard them, he pulled away, gently placing down Morse's hand on his chest. Thursday blinked, pushing away the tears that threatened to fall and stood up to meet the officers.

He kept his stony facade as they picked up Morse's still-warm body from the asphalt. He kept it when he had to explain to the others what happened, who and why Morse was shot. He kept it when he declined Jake's offer to drive him home.

It wasn't until Thursday was at his front door when the dam finally broke. Win opened the door, her face lit up, happy to see him. She was so goddamn beautiful, so familiar and safe. Thursday stared at her wonderful face, so relieved to see her. At that moment, his heart snapped and his face fell.

He pulled her close, practically clutching her to him, as he openly sobbed into her shoulder. Win's own arms wrapped around him, soothingly stroking his back. This wasn't the first time Thursday had come home after watching a close friend die. And, sadly, it wouldn't be the last.

Win would eventually coax Thursday into their bathroom, where she'll help him strip and ease him into a warm shower. Afterwards she'll clean the blood out from underneath his fingernails. After a cup of tea and few biscuits for sugar, she'll put Thursday to bed.

Win didn't climb in herself, needing to go tell the children what happened.

As warm and familiar as his bed was, it took hours for Thursday to fall asleep. The image of Morse's daunt, scared, young face was burned behind his eyes, along with the dozens faces of men he knew and lost. Gunner Mills, Jack Wilcock, and just six years ago, it was Carter. All of them, not even thirty years old yet.

And now Morse. From what Thursday heard, Morse's birthday was only next month. Not even twenty-eight, the poor lad.

Exhaustion eventually pulled Thursday under. His pillow was damp with tears. Tomorrow was a new day, and Thursday wished it would never come.

 

 

 

 

 

He woke to the smells of breakfast. Win was not a grand cook and often made the same foods over and over. Eggs with ham, ham with cheese, cheese and egg. This morning it smelled like eggs with cheese, just like yesterday.

After crying so much last night, Thursday was surprised he didn't feel dehydrated or his eyes didn't itch. He sat up, stretched, and bustled to the bathroom to shave and brush his teeth.

Though breakfast smelled wonderful, Thursday felt no urge to eat. So he took his time to dress, thinking about the day's plans, what he needed to do. If Jakes hadn't done it already, Thursday needed to call Morse's sister. No, he should visit her personally. She deserved that right.

Feeling like a boulder bored down on his shoulders, Thursday came down the stairs, his feet stepping heavily on each board. He heard Win's voice, happily chatting away. As Thursday got closer, he heard more of her conversation.

"... and so Fred, in a rush, ran down the street with flowers in hand. Petals flew _everywhere_ , like yellow bits of confetti, and by the time he caught up with me, he was so out of breath, he couldn't speak. It was so cute."

Why was Win retelling the tale of their disastrous first date to the kids again? Joan stated many times she was sick and tired of hearing it.

"I didn't think Inspector Thursday could be flustered. I guess I would have to see it to believe it."

Thursday froze.

He blinked, then he rushed to the kitchen, nearly tripping over his own feet. He halted right at the doorframe, and couldn't believe his eyes.

Morse turned around to greet him. "Good morning, sir," he said.

"Morse," Thursday breathed. "You're alive."

"I... is something wrong? Sir...?"

A _dream_. Last night was all a dream, and Thursday should kick himself for ever believing it to be true. He took two giant steps forward, grabbed the boy by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug.

Surprised by the sudden move, Morse stumbled, nearly collapsing his whole weight onto Thursday's chest. "Oof!"

Morse didn't hug back, but that was okay. He was here, breathing, alive and warm. Thursday pulled away a moment later. "Sorry, lad. Just glad to see you."

It was such a piss poor lie, Thursday felt ashamed for coming up with it. But thankfully Morse let it go. "You ready?"

"Yes. I am."

 

 

 

 

 

"Is there a reason why you're so jumpy?"

Thursday shifted in the passenger seat. He tried his best to hide his emotions, he couldn't help but look over to Morse every few seconds to ensure last night was indeed just a dream. "Bad dreams, is all."

"Do... you want to talk about it?"

Fuck, how bad did Thursday look if _Morse_ felt like he should speak up? "I'm fine," he said. "Memories of the war. Nothing I haven't experienced before."

Morse had to be psychic because the _look_ he gave him was so full of suspicion, Thursday wondered if this was how criminals felt under that gaze. "Stop giving me that look. You're not my mother, Morse."

"Why?" Said Morse, turning his attention back to the road once the light turned green. "You've been giving me that look all morning."

 

 

 

 

 

The case in the dream had been a simple one. A man found murdered in his car, a single gunshot wound to the side of his head. The investigation was pretty simple, and they traced the gun back to the son, a Mr. Charlie Williams.

When they tried to arrest him, that's when everything went south.

The moment Charlie saw them walking up his property through his front window, he started firing upon them and didn't stop.

A bullet had caught Morse in the chest.

Thursday would eventually learn later on from DeBryn that the bullet had ruptured Morse's lung. Thursday had seen enough similar wounds know: Morse had died from drowning on his own blood.

It disturbed Thursday why his unconscious mind chose that particular death for Morse. He would rather have the boy shot in the head than experience such an awful end.

Thursday slapped his cheeks. He was getting too depressed over a dream. It was a brand new day and so far, no homicides have come across Thursday's desk. Maybe he'll clock out early, take Morse with him and go to the pub. With that in mind, Thursday leaned back into his chair, pulling out his pipe from his inner pocket of his jacket.

There was a knock on his door. Jakes popped his head in and said, "Sir, we got a call. A man was found dead in his car. He was shot in the back of the head."

Thursday dropped his pipe.

 

 

 

 

 

"I'm surprised you didn't bring Morse along."

There was a suspicious tone to Jake's voice. When they got the call, and Morse had risen out of his chair to join, Thursday told him, not so politely, " _Sit down_ , you're on General Duties for the rest of the day."

Morse sat back down, but not without looking like a kicked puppy. Even Jakes had noticed that? Crap.

"He'll be fine," Thursday had mumbled, unable to think of a better explanation. "Let's focus on the job, shall we? I would like to go home at decent hour today."

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday wondered if he was psychic. Maybe it was a sign from God. Either way, as he watched as the police car drive away with Charlie Williams inside, he was relieved.

He's been witness to foresight before. Back in the war, George Hans, a twenty-one year old boy from Canterbury, dreamt his death to the exact detail. He had predicted the number of bullets and where they would strike him. Thursday and the others had laughed at him, told him he was being silly and superstitious. That next morning, George fell dead at Thursday's feet, exactly how he predicted.

This was a second chance. Thursday had saved Morse's life.

Jakes was talking to someone over the radio. The longer Thursday stared, the worse Jakes looked. Blood was draining out of the young man's face, making him appear gaunt and deadly pale. Was he about to faint? Thursday came close, and Jakes saw him, he held out the radio receiver to him.

"Sir," he said gently. "It's Morse."

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn't just Morse this time. He and two others were went with him. A teenage girl had stolen her brother's car and took it out for a joy ride. She didn't know how to drive and soon enough, lost control of the car and ran into Morse and two pedestrians on the street.

One man was killed when the car's side mirror clipped him on his side, crushing in his ribs. The man was with his daughter, and in attempt to save her, the father pushed her out of the way. But she fell awkwardly and hit her head on the curb.

Morse had taken full blunt of the car. A portion of his body was wedged between the tyres. He was crushed to death.

The driver walked away with only a few bruises.

Blight ordered Thursday to go home. Thursday didn't want to leave, not when they were still trying to maneuver Morse's body from the tyres. Jakes eventually pulled Thursday away, practically carried him to the car and drove him home.

For the second time in two days, Thursday cried himself to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

This had to be a nightmare. He had to be hallucinating or he was drugged or _something_. This couldn't be happening. Not again.

Morse turned around to greet him. "Good morning, sir."

"Go home."

"Sir...?"

Win tensed, sensing the sudden argument that was about to happen. She couldn't flee, she was seated on the far side of the table.

"I said," Thursday began again, putting more force behind his voice. "Go home. You're fired."

Morse's mouth dropped. "Wh- what for?"

Because you're going to die today and I need to stop it. "Because you're a sniveling little twit who refuses to respect his elders."

"Are you saying this on Blight's orders?"

"Get out," Thursday hissed. "And don't show your face around here ever again."

Morse acted as if he'd been slapped. He gaped at Thursday, his eyes hurt. For a second, Thursday thought Morse would argue with him, demand to know the real reason why. Instead, Morse bitterly closed his mouth. He pushed past Thursday, throwing him one last suspicious, angry look.

Thursday sighed when he heard the front door close.

"Now what was that about?" Win demanded. "Why did you have to hurt that boy that way?"

"It's for the best."

"For whom? I have never seen you act this way, Fred! What's going on?"

He didn't know. Either he just made a big mistake or this was just the beginning of a never ending nightmare. Once was a mistake, twice was a coincidence but three times was a pattern. Thursday hoped it ends today.

 

 

 

 

 

"The landlady said he fell on the stairs."

Thursday stared down at Morse's corpse. The bruising around his pale, white neck stood out painfully. Broken neck. At least this time he went quickly. DeBryn covered Morse's body with the cloth, then stepped back to wipe at his eyes.

Thursday brushed away the tears from his own cheeks. Three times a pattern.

 

 

 

 

 

 **Day Four**.

After Thursday told Win not to worry for him and not to answer any phone calls from the precinct, he grabbed Morse and whisked him away to the far country. The plan was simple: see to Morse lived for the rest of today. Thursday didn't understand what was going on. Maybe this was a test from God, not that he believed in such things. He just felt if Morse kept breathing till tomorrow, he would continue to live into tomorrow.

"Today," Thursday said. "You're not leaving my sight."

Morse had the window down and was enjoying the wind through his hair. He pulled back and said, "Are you kidnapping me?"

He said it lightly as a joke, but in all seriousness, Thursday said, "Yes."

Morse was quiet for the rest of the car ride.

In the end, Thursday never made it to the far country. At a stop sign, three men rushed the Jaguar, breaking the glass and pulled them out of the car. As Morse struggled to get free, one of them bashed his head against the side door of the Jaguar.

 

 

 

 

 

 **Day Seven**.

Thursday shoved money into Win's hand and told her to have herself a girl day's out with friends. Win didn't argue, though she couldn't help teasing Thursday that he was planning something secretive and didn't want her around. She wasn't wrong.

As soon as she left, Thursday cut the phone lines. He took Morse to the living room, sat him down in front of the television and told him to not move from that spot for the rest of the day.

Morse naturally protested. "Sir, I really don't watch television-"

"That's an order, Morse," Thursday warned. "Don't you dare get up from that chair."

Thursday was able to keep Morse alive for most of the morning. When lunch rolled around, Morse choked to death on the ham sandwich Thursday gave him.

 

 

 

 

 

**Day Thirteen** _._

This time around, Thursday didn't bother to get dressed for the day. No matter how much prodding Win did, he refused to leave the kitchen table, staring numbly into his cooling cup of coffee.

"Maybe you can talk to him," he overheard Win say to Morse by the front door. "I don't know what's going on, I've never seen him like this before."

"I'll try."

How was the boy going to die today? Yesterday a loose brick from a building landed on top of his head. (No, not yesterday, today, it was always today.) Morse so far has been stabbed, shot, electrocuted, burnt alive, crushed, suffocated, and bled out. How many ways can a human being die? It seemed the universe was trying to find out and was using Thursday to document the whole ordeal.

He heard Morse's feet pad into the dining room. "Sir?" He said, taking a seat next to him. "What's wrong?"

Thursday raised his eyes up to that youthful face. God, how many times has he seen it covered in blood? "Morse," he said. "Tell me a secret."

"A secret?"

"Something you've never told anyone. Something you've kept to yourself, something nobody else on earth knows about."

"May I ask why?"

Morse was humouring him at this point. Thursday looked back down at his coffee cup. "Because I feel like I'm disconnecting from the world. I need something real to keep me here. Please, Morse, a secret."

Thursday thought Morse wasn't going to do it. Understandable, it was an odd situation and Morse has never been that candid with Thursday.

"I once stole a packet of cigarettes when I was twelve."

Thursday scowled at him. _That's it?_

"I did it on a dare," Morse continued. "I stole them from this shop run by a Mr. Murray and his wife. They were a much older couple, older than you at the time. I purposely knocked over a display to get Mr. Murray to leave the back area. When he busy sweeping up the mess, I snuck behind the counter and put a packet into my pocket and ran out of there like hell was on my heels. For three days I hid the cigarettes in my room. I didn't smoke them. When my mates asked about them, I lied to them, told them I chickened out at the last minute."

Morse shook his head mournfully. "I felt so damn guilty for stealing from Mr. Murray. He worked so hard in that shop everyday. And he was always kind to me... always kind to my mother... so after those three days of agonizing over my actions, I went back to see him. I gave back the smokes, and I told him the truth."

At this point, Morse's voice dropped to a low level. His eyes were distant, unfocused. "So Mr. Murray took me to the supply room," Morse continued. He was pulling up the sleeve to his left arm. "I thought he was going to yell at me. Spank me, maybe. Instead, he did this."

Morse showed off his naked forearm to Thursday. Besides a mole and hair, Thursday didn't know what he was looking for. He kept looking because Morse didn't pull away. Then, after ten seconds of staring aimlessly, he saw it. It was a faint, nearly healed scar tissue. The shape however was-

" _He_ _bit_ _you_?" Thursday hissed out, pulling back. "That's how he chose to punish you?"

"He said I hurt him deeply. That because he knew my family for years, betraying him was like a knife to the heart. So it was only logical he punish me in a similar way."

"Good god," Thursday said. "And you never told anyone?"

Morse rolled down his sleeve gently. "You asked me to tell you a secret I kept to myself."

"Yes, but..."

"It didn't matter. A month later Mr. Murray died from a heart attack. Mrs. Murray then sold the shop and moved in with her children in Canada. Because Mr. Murray said my betrayal was like a 'knife to the heart,' for the longest time I thought I caused his attack. It took me years to fully understand what had happened."

This was not what Thursday had been expecting. He thought Morse would have a tattoo or maybe he once did drugs or he enjoyed wearing ladies underwear.

"Now I told you my secret," Morse said. "Now tell me yours. What's going on?"

Thursday suddenly wished he had his pipe. Win forbade him from smoking inside the house. He hasn't smoked all morning. "You die today."

Morse blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

Maybe Thursday's experiences from the war finally caught up to him, drove him mad. "You die today, Morse. The first time it happened, you were shot in the chest. The second time, you were crushed to death by a car. The third time... damn, I'm having a hard time remembering. Yesterday you choked to death. And no matter what I do, no matter where I take you, you die. And then the day restarts again like it never happened."

"I... you're dreaming that I-"

"No, not dreams. Reality."

"Sir-"

"It doesn't matter, Morse. Maybe now that I told you, all of this will be prevented, and all I would have to endure is an embarassing moment."

He tried to smile at Morse but it was so forced, his cheek muscles ached from the effort. Morse didn't smile back, his eyebrows pushed together in concern. He told Thursday to stay home that day and rest. Tired, Thursday let him go.

Later that day Thursday ignored the repeated phone calls to his house. He didn't need to answer them to know.

 

 

 

 

 

**Day Fourteen.**

If Morse's eyes got any wider, they would encompass his whole head. Thursday said nothing, letting Morse to come to this on his own time. "How..." Mose started, then stopped, trying to work saliva back into his mouth. "How do you know about that?"

Good. Morse had not lied to him yesterday (today). "Because you told me that."

"I have never-"

"Listen to me and listen to me now, Morse. I know this because I have lived this day before. And in order to get you to listen to me, I needed to do something beyond reason, beyond doubt. I know this secret because you told me. _Yesterday_. How else could I have known?"

"I've been under heavy drugs before, sir," Morse said, bitterness creeping into his voice. He was not believing it. "I've been sick enough to be sent to the hospital. I could've easily told someone under duress. And you're a good detective sir, I'm sure you could've figured it out on your own."

"Figure it out, how? How could I have known it was Mr. Murray who bit you-"

"I don't know but I am not playing this game. I'm going, sir. I'll see you at the station, if ever."

Thursday grabbed a fistful of hair, groaning silently to himself. This was going to be harder than he imagined.

 

 

 

 

 

**Day twenty-three.**

"...and let's see, what else? Oh yes, the first girl you ever kissed was named Suzie Taylor, you were ten. You once set the living room carpet on fire. You have posed nude for a art session, once. Though you destroyed the painting when you heard it was going to be displayed at the library. You have stolen books from said library. And though you hate to admit it, you do like Elvis Presely."

Thursday leaned back and drank his tea, enjoying the shock look on Morse's face.

"How-"

"I told you, I have relived this day over and over again."

"Sir, that's-"

"-impossible."

The boy made a face. "You can't-"

"-possibly know what I am about to say."

Morse got more determined. "Ma il mio mistero-"

"-è chiuso in me," Thursday continued perfectly in the exact pitch.

"Stop-"

"Stop it."

"When I was seven-"

"When I was seven my sister accidentally jumped on my foot, breaking one of my toes. I still have a small scar where the bone broke through the skin and I still wonder if it's ever going to fade."

Morse rubbed his forehead. "This... this is impossible. There's no way..."

Hope sprung up in Thursday. One of the hardest things to achieve was not only keeping Morse, but making him believe it happened before. He was such a skeptic, if God Himself came down to earth to talk with him, Morse would probably call Him a liar and throw him out the front door. "Morse, accept what I'm telling you as truth. You _die_ today. And the only way I can prevent it is for you to help."

"Why?"

"I don't know why you keep dying-"

"No. Why do you keep trying?"

Thursday felt like all the air had just been sucked out of his lungs. "What?"

Morse didn't repeat himself. Thursday did not hear him wrong. "What are you saying?" Thursday nearly snarled. "Do you _want_ to die?"

"I... no, of course not. But... have you ever heard of the poem, _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_?"

"For fuck's sake, Morse, I don't think anybody has read the things you have read."

"Maybe you've not read the poem itself, but perhaps you've heard of the lesson of the fisherman who shoots the albatross?"

"What does that-"

"Don't shoot the albatross, sir," Morse said. "Just... let it be."

Thursday couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had to take a step back because he was ready to hit Morse across the face. All his efforts, all his tears and pain, and Morse wanted to give it all up? "Don't give me your poetic bullshit-"

"All I'm saying if it was meant to be, let it be! Maybe the reason why this day keeps repeating itself is not because of me, but because of you! Maybe you need to step back and let the universe do its job!"

"THE UNIVERSE CAN GO FUCK ITSELF!" Thursday bellowed, taking two steps forward and shoving Morse by the shoulders. "Now you listen to me and you listen well, boy. I have seen grown men cry for their mothers. I have watched women and children torn apart by bullets, whole cities burnt to the ground, and animals feasting on the festering flesh of dead human beings. I known hell because I have survived it. I did not bow to devil, so don't you dare tell me to bow to the universe. If I can fight a World War, I can certainly fight this. Understand?"

If the universe really wanted Morse dead, they were going have to go through Thursday first.

Morse was still so young. He, who grew up in a world never knowing what it was like having the threat of total annihilation hanging over your head. He, who had to take on the burdens of the aftermath, to be taught to be better or risk repeating history again. He heard the war stories, but never lived them. He has no idea what it means to be willing die, to _kill_ , for a cause.

Never in his life has someone made such a declaration towards him. Thursday meant every word. Morse knew that.

Morse blinked. His eyes were wet. "Yes," he said, his voice rough. "I understand."

 

 

 

On that day, Morse died quietly in Thursday's arms. Maybe Morse understood the day would simply repeat itself, maybe he still thought Thursday was lying. Either way, as the blood rushed out from his cut throat, he buried his face in Thursday's chest and held on tight.

 

 

 

 

 

**Day Forty-three.**

"Maybe I have to die first."

Morse snorted. "Like that's going to happen."

Thursday was being serious. "It's the only thing I haven't tried."

"I'm not going to let you die."

Last time Thursday brought Morse to a pub, a drunken fight had broken out and someone took a jagged bottle and shoved it into Morse's back. This was a different pub, different time, but Thursday was wary of everyone inside. He was keeping a particular eye on the young woman sitting near the front doors. She looked innocent enough, but Morse has died by the hands of women before. Last time a woman killed him, she mistook him for her cheating boyfriend and stabbed him in the thigh with her fountain pen, severing his artery.

"Besides," Morse continued. "You don't want to die. You have your wife and kids."

"Everyone dies," Thursday muttered without any real conviction. It was true, he didn't want to die anymore than he wanted Morse to die. He didn't have an idea on what to do next, though. "Then what do you suggest?"

"Besides taking a step back and letting me die? On the first day, what happened?"

"What? You mean the casual events before all of _this_?"

Morse nodded.

"Alright... um... we found a man murdered. Shot in the back of the head-"

"This murder, the one everyone else is investigating as we speak?"

"The one we would have been investigating, yes. It was an easy case, we figured out it was the son within a few hours. But when we went to go arrest him..."

After thirty days of watching Morse die, Thursday thought he would be numb to this by now. However, thinking back to that moment in which he held Morse's body in his hands, begging him to hang on, nearly sent his world into a dark spin.

Every death that has happened after felt like a dream. The first one felt real.

"... when we went to go arrest him," Thursday continued after a moment's breath. "We did not realize he was already waiting for us. We came to his door, and he shot you first."

"Without provocation?"

"I assume he saw us through his window or he wanted this."

"You should talk to him. Maybe he knows what's going on."

Thursday blinked. "What? Talk to the man who first _killed_ you? I never heard anything so banal."

"Sir, what do you got to lose? Another day?"

Thursday leaned back, angrily breathing out through his nose. Morse had a point. It was not as if Thursday had any other options.

 

 

 

 

 

**Day Forty-four.**

The discovery of the corpse came in around ten o'clock, which gave the estimated time of death at eight. That meant as soon as Thursday woke at 7:15, he dressed as fast as he could. Morse had the car. Thursday would have to get to the crime scene on foot.

Win sleepily insisted she get up to make him a sandwich and he hushed her, told her to go back to sleep. Besides, he was tired of eating the same sandwich (cheese and ham) every day.

Thursday started his trek at a fast paced walk. As old as he was, his knees never gave him too much problems and he was confident he could handle this easily. But as his watch told him he was not going to make it at this pace, he started jogging. That's when he started to feel his age.

Within a minute he was huffing and puffing and breathing so hard he thought he would faint. He kept glancing down at his watch, wincing as each second went by, telling him to go faster. Hard to believe he once marched across North Africa with gun in hand and a giant pack hanging off his shoulders.

Five minutes before eight Thursday came upon the street of where the murdered father was found. From where he stood, Thursday could see the car parked just a few feet away. A stitch had formed on his side, making him limp as he walked to the car.

Inside, the father was already dead. Blood was still pooling out of the wound. Thursday had missed the son by mere minutes.

With a defeated groan, Thursday flopped against the car and slid to the ground in a tired huff.

 

 

 

 

 

 **Day Forty-five**.

This time Thursday stole a bicycle.

He should've done this in the first place. Why didn't he do this in the first place?

He kept checking his side, touching his revolver, making sure he brought it with him. He had yet to decide if he should try killing the son. Thursday had no idea if it would work.

Then again, what if it did work? Was Thursday willing to sacrifice the young man in order to save Morse?

The answer was fucking obvious- of course he would. It wouldn't be the first time Thursday had killed in the defense of a friend. And if it didn't work, then all Thursday would lose is a day.

Thursday came upon the street just as the car pulled up to the curb. Inside were two people. They were talking, calmly from what Thursday could see. Immediately he ditched the bicycle, pulled out his badge and walked right up to the car. He tapped twice on the passenger side (the father's body was found on the driver's side) and flattened his badge against the window for them to see.

He expected resistance to come from the son.

"Go away!" The father, Harry Williams, cried out from inside the car. "This doesn't concern you!"

The son, Charlie, kept staring in between them, confused. "Dad, please-"

Through the windows Thursday watched as Williams pulled out a pistol from inside his own coat pocket. Thursday reared back, unholstering his own. "Drop the gun!"

The moment Williams pointed it at his son, Thursday fired twice through the window.

The boy started screaming. Through the shattered glass, Thursday reached in and opened the door, pulling Charlie out by the arm. The boy was shaking uncontrollaby, his face splattered with his father's blood. Williams laid slumped in his chair, the back of his head smeared on the window behind him.

This whole time Thursday thought the _son_ was the killer. Thursday could see all too clearly: when Williams brought out the gun, he and Charlie struggled. Perhaps Charlie fired by accident. Perhaps he killed Williams in fear. Either way, Charlie was the _victim_ here. Only Morse had suggested another path. Jesus Christ.

"Charlie," Thursday said gently, kneeling down to where the boy sat. Charlie's knees was pulled up to his chest, his head pressed against his legs as he shook and sobbed. "Charlie, listen to me, this isn't your fault."

"It is," he said, muffled. "He said he always hated me. That I was some kind of freak."

The morning got brighter by the second. In the space of it all, Thursday wanted to shed his coat by the unexpected heat. "Charlie, please, listen to me. My friend is going to be hurt today. He's been hurt every day-"

"I know," Charlie sniffled. "He's the blood sacrifice."

The blood- _what?_

"What are you talking about?" Thursday demanded.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said. "I've been trying to fix this, trying to make it right. I know it was wrong to choose him, but I had to choose somebody and he was the only one who didn't have a wife or kids or-"

Rage flew through Thursday's body like a lightening bolt. He grabbed Charlie by the collar of his shirt, hauled him to his feet and slammed him against the car. From the corner of his eye, Thursday could see the slumped body of the father and the broken, bloody window. _"You chose Morse specifically?"_

"Not exactly! If I could have avoid choosing anyone, I would have!" Charlie said. "But I needed a blood sacrifice for the spell to work! And he... just happened to be the best choice!"

"Then why am I affected by this?"

"You... you're connected to him, somehow. I don't know. The spell has loopholes not even I could comprehend-"

"Undo it," Thursday snarled. "Undo this all!"

"I can't! My father is still dead!"

At that, Charlie wretched himself out of Thursday's grip. "I'm sorry about your friend! But it was between him and my dad and I choose my dad! And until I can figure out a way to stop him from dying, I will repeat this day over and over!"

Jesus Christ. So it wasn't just Morse, Charlie had been reliving each day, watching his father die too. How many times has it been now? How many different ways did he watch his father die? "You dad just tried to _murder_ you," Thursday hissed.

"He doesn't understand! If I can just find the right words... I'll make him understand. I can fix this."

Thursday pointed his gun at Charlie. "Undo this... or I'll kill you."

The sight of the gun pointing straight at him had Charlie flinching away. "Shooting me will do nothing," he said, scared. "As long as blood is sacrificed, the day repeats."

"If I can stop Morse from dying, the spell breaks. Is that what you mean?"

"You won't be able to stop it."

The boy didn't say it as a threat, just a simple fact. He was still crying, shaking as he slowly backed away from Thursday. He glanced over to his father, sobbed at the sight of him, and took off running down the street.

Thursday dropped his arm. He groaned.

 

 

 

 

 

 **Day Forty-nine**.

"Morse, if you had a chance to save your father, would you?"

Morse blinked at him. "You mean... if I could keep his heart from weakening?"

"From... anything. If you could make it so he would be able to live one day longer, would you?"

"Why do you ask?"

 _This_ Morse didn't know about Thursday's repeating days. He didn't know he was chosen at random to become a never-ending sacrifice to a boy's quest to keep his abusive father alive. Thursday was afraid if he told, Morse would only use that as an incentive to tell Thursday to let it go. "Mmm... curious."

Morse thought about it. "What's the price?"

"There is no price."

"There's always a price," Morse said. "Prometheus was chained to be eaten alive everyday because he gave fire to man. Adam and Eve were thrown out of the Garden for eating the fruit of Knowledge. _You_ , sir, were willing to give up your own life in order to protect those who could not in the War. No matter how much I would want my father to live, something like that would require... a universal sacrifice."

Sometimes Thursday felt like a child next to Morse. He nearly had a good twenty-five years on the boy but Morse was an intellectual giant. A few months ago Thursday tried to reread _Hamlet_ and could barely get past the first act. Times like these Thursday wondered who was the student and who was the teacher.

"Thank you, Morse," Thursday said. "I have my answer now."

 

 

 

 

 

 **Day Fifty**.

"Stay in the car."

"Sir!" Morse started protesting. "We don't know what type of man Charlie Williams is-"

"You never mind that now. Stay here and wait for backup. I want to see if I can talk to him."

Morse grasped him by the arm. "You'll be killed before you get through that front door!"

"No, I won't," Thursday said. He tugged his arm out of Morse's grip and made his way to Charlie's house.

The front door wasn't even locked. Before he let himself in, Thursday gave Morse one last look over his shoulder. Morse refused to stay in the car. He hung back, though anxiously waited. Thursday wondered how long Morse would give himself before running in to save the day?

"You shouldn't be here," Charlie said as soon as Thursday walked through the door. He was sitting on the floor by the dining room table, his knees pulled up to his chest. Next to him sat a lit black candle with silver markings. The flame was blue. "I won't change my mind."

"That's fine," Thursday said, closing the door behind him. He engaged the lock to ensure Morse wouldn't coming crashing in prematurely. "I just want to offer a different path, is all."

"A different path?"

"Use me as the blood sacrifice."

" _What?_ " Charlie snapped. "I can't use you!"

"Why not? You said you need a sacrifice for the spell to work, it might as well be me."

Charlie stood up from the floor. He was shorter than Morse. He was skinny, way too skinny for a boy his age. "You're married," Charlie said. "You have a _family_."

"So what are you saying? That because Morse isn't married or has kids, my life is more important than his?"

"You have people who will miss you."

"And what do you think will happen when Morse dies?" Thursday pushed. "That he will disappear off the face of the earth and nobody will remember him ever again? He has a sister, you know. He's been in love, people have been in love with him. He has friends, he has colleagues, he has made impressions on people. He has _saved lives_. And you don't think he matters?"

Tears welled up in Charlie's eyes. He wasn't convinced, not yet. "You're a father. Children need their father-"

"My kids are grown. They can take care of themselves."

Charlie flinched. "Why do you want to die so badly?"

"I don't," Thursday said. "But I don't want Morse to die anymore."

The blue flame flickered. Thursday had no idea what that meant. So he kept pushing. "Your father," he said. "Was he a good man?"

Charlie grasped his head as if in pain. "He tried to be," he said, screwing his eyes shut. "He just got... lost somewhere. I didn't mean to kill him the first time, it was an accident. I just wanted him to stop."

"Stop hurting you."

"He didn't mean to! He just didn't understand!"

"Charlie, he pointed a _gun_ at you. I think his intentions were pretty clear how he felt about you!"

"Stop it!"

"And now look what you're doing! How many times have you watched your father die? How many different ways has he died? Was the tenth death easier than the first? How about the twentieth death? Or the fortieth? How many times will you watch your father die before you understand- the reason why this day keeps repeating is not because of a spell or because of your failed attempts to keep him alive, it's because the price you pay for such a gift has to be _universal_. So ignore that boy out there, the boy who has no family or children. Use someone who does. Use me."

There was silence in the air, wavering on a thin line. Thursday could almost feel it, like pressure on his ears from diving too deep in a pool. He watched as Charlie slowly came to the truth on his own, his face shifting from shock to utter heartbreak.

The blue flame suddenly vanished.

Charlie sunk to the floor. "I'm so sorry, daddy..." he sobbed into his hands. "But I can't... I can't... please forgive me."

A weight as big as a whale lifted from Thursday's shoulders. He actually stumbled back a step from the sudden disappearance. He sighed in relief. He then stepped forward, kneeled down to where Charlie cried for forgiveness and rubbed his back.

"You're going to be alright, lad," he said to him. "You're going to be alright..."

 

 

 

 

"How did you convince him to go quietly?"

Thursday didn't answer Morse. He was too busy watching Charlie be placed inside a police vehicle. Charlie wouldn't be in jail for long, his actions were done in self-defense. Either way, while Charlie was being handcuffed, Thursday destroyed the black candle, then threw it away.

Maybe it was the end, Thursday wasn't a hundred percent sure. Perhpas he was going to wake up again tomorrow, with Win in the kitchen, Morse there too, laughing and giggling over old tales. After the things he's seen in the war, he had no idea such a scene would represent hell so closely.

He would just have to wait and see. Turning away from Charlie, Thursday placed his hand on Morse's shoulder. It felt warm underneath his fingers. "Morse, come with me. We're going home."

"Home?" Morse said, confused. "Sir, we still have paperwork."

"It can be done tomorrow."


End file.
